


You Can Leave Your Hat On

by guti



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Strip Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 10:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6952135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guti/pseuds/guti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a flourish to the music and Gary turns around to face him, sauntering up to Jamie in time to the beat.  At first his expression is something akin to bedroom eyes but that quickly fades into a toothy grin.  Unsure what else to do, Jamie smiles too.</p><p>“This is seeming like some Kim Basinger, <i>9½ Weeks</i> bullshit, Gary.  Not sure I can handle it if that’s where this is going.”</p><p>Gary just keeps smiling and dancing along, not entirely gracefully, but his movements get the point across.  Slowly, teasingly, he begins to undo the buttons of his shirt, unfastening them one by one as he dances around the floor toward Jamie, and even though there’s something distinctly ridiculous about it, Jamie finds that he’s actually really turned on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can Leave Your Hat On

Jamie knew the taping would be fun, but he has to admit, he’s more than a little spent. Turns out, taking part in comedic shenanigans can really tire a fellow out, _especially_ when said comedic shenanigans involved himself and Redders getting a lap dance from Razor Ruddock in front of a live audience, later to be shown ad nauseam on national television and the internet. 

The first thing he does when he gets in is take a long, scalding shower, hoping it will sear the memory from his mind. _No one_ needs that vision permanently impressed upon them. The second thing he does is go to bed, with the distinct intention of never, _ever_ thinking of the taping again.

And he does a fine job of that too, until the program actually airs. He doesn’t watch it, instead he decides he’ll be responsible find something more relevant to his job to watch. Sporting played Porto earlier, maybe he could watch the highlights… Or he could watch the Airtricity league, see how things are faring across the sea. He draws the blinds shut and settles onto the sofa with the remote, ready to enjoy whichever match catches his attention better when the doorbell rings.

It’s Gary, standing there in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, looking more than a tad silly in his trench coat and hat. Jamie almost laughs at the sight of him, but instead raises his eyebrows in amusement.

“It’s a bit late to come calling, isn’t it?” He asks, leaning against the door, smirking. Truth be told, he’s not mad about Gary’s sudden appearance at his stoop, just a bit surprised. It’s not the first late night visit between them, but usually there’s at least a phone call, a head’s up if Gary’s feeling like coming around. 

Gary just stares at him, eyes narrowing. “Aren’t you going to ask me in?”

“I didn't ask you over to begin with,” Jamie says with a grin, stepping aside for him, shutting the door and locking it behind them. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Gary pretty much ignores him and heads straight for the living room, switching the television onto some channel with dead, then turning his attention to Jamie’s stereo. Jamie follows a few paces behind, head tilted in amusement as he looks on.

“I was watching that, you know.”

“Too bad.”

Jamie frowns as he watches from the entryway. “You’ve got something else in mind, Gary?”

Gary looks back at him, a long, heated look over his shoulder, then he pulls his phone from his pocket and plugs it into the speakers.

“You want me to listen to something?” Jamie asks him, completely dumbfounded. He doesn't exactly mind Gary making himself at home, taking over his living room, but it’s not exactly par for the course with them. “Is that what’s going on?”

“Have you got anything to drink?” 

Jamie scrunches his nose a little. “Like water…?”

“Like wine. Or rum. Or absinthe for all I care. Something alcoholic.” Gary is still messing with his phone, like he’s queuing something up. Jamie watches him a moment, then nods, returning a moment later with a bottle of vodka and a couple of glasses. Gary smiles. “Pour me some. And you too.”

Jamie does as he’s told, but his heart starts to sink a little. How often does a friend burst in and demand a stiff drink without delivering some sort of terrible news? Maybe there’s been a tragedy. Maybe something’s happened to Ed. Maybe MNF’s been canceled. Or maybe he’s come round to call whatever’s gone on between them off for good. Jamie’s stomach lurches again at the thought. He studies Gary’s face for any signs that something awful’s happened as Gary downs his drink, but finds nothing especially out of the ordinary. Instead, Gary seems like himself, if slightly more bundled up than usual, and perhaps a bit more fidgety than he normally is. It’s not especially unusual, just somewhat strange, strange enough that Jamie feels like he ought to press him about it, in case something really has gone wrong.

He locks eyes with Jamie then, and smiles, and then, before Jamie can say anything, Gary moves in for a kiss.

It’s short but passionate, with just the right amount of longing to it that it leaves Jamie’s head spinning when Gary pulls away and switches off the lights. Jamie can’t help but think of the first time Gary kissed him, recall how he felt so lightheaded then too, remember how he was terrified and absolutely out of his mind excited. And left wanting. Always wanting. Every time he’s ever kissed Gary, he’s been left dizzy and wanting more, always unsure if Gary is his for the taking, forever confused if it’s alright. 

He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, watching Gary as he makes his way around the room.

“Sit,” Gary commands, gesturing to the floor. Jamie is nothing if not obedient, and he sits down, gazing up at him.

“What’re you—?”

Gary shushes him and turns away, apparently pressing the play button on the stereo while his back is turned, because a second or two later, the familiar refrain of horns is blasting from the speakers. Jamie knows that sound alright, recognizes the melody instantly, and with his eyes fixed on Gary, he begins to nervously laugh. The last time he heard this song, he had Razor’s junk shoved into his face.

“Joe Cocker, eh, Gaz?” 

Gary looks back at him and gives a little shrug, and with it, his coat slips off his shoulder and onto the floor. It’s right then that Jamie realizes that Gary’s hips are moving too, swaying to the rhythm of the music.

“Oh my god,” Jamie exhales, unsure whether to laugh or cry. Or be turned on. That’s also an option, probably. “What the hell are you doing?”

There’s a flourish to the music and Gary turns around to face him, sauntering up to Jamie in time to the beat. At first his expression is something akin to bedroom eyes but that quickly fades into a toothy grin. Unsure what else to do, Jamie smiles too.

“This is seeming like some Kim Basinger, _9½ Weeks_ bullshit, Gary. Not sure I can handle it if that’s where this is going.”

Gary just keeps smiling and dancing along, not entirely gracefully, but his movements get the point across. Slowly, teasingly, he begins to undo the buttons of his shirt, unfastening them one by one as he dances around the floor toward Jamie, and even though there’s something distinctly ridiculous about it, Jamie finds that he’s actually really turned on.

“You love me, Carra?”

Jamie blinks, staring up at him. His breath catches in his throat. “I… what?”

“You said you loved me.”

Gary’s shirt is open now, and Jamie can’t look away. Sure, he’s seen him shirtless before, but there’s something quite different about seeing him illuminated by the pale blue light of the television, the slatted shadows of the window blinds casting their peculiar patterns across the room and over Gary’s exposed skin. This isn't some sort of incidental act of erotica— Gary’s putting on a goddamned show, and he’s making for certain that Jamie will be watching him. Loath as he may be to admit it, it’s driving Jamie wild.

“On national television, you said it.” Gary drops down then, so he’s on all fours, crawling toward Jamie at an aching, arduous pace that makes Jamie want to reach out and pull him in close, do anything to get his hands on him.

“I also said you were alright in small doses,” Jamie manages, hand out to grab Gary, only managing to knock his stupid hat off in the process. Gary’s perched back on his heels, close enough to be kissed again. Jamie decides to go for it.

“Ah-ah,” Gary tuts. He shakes his head and slinks away, out of Jamie’s reach, leaving him disappointed, and suddenly a little chilly. He shudders a little, and it’s only then that he realizes that he’s hard as hell. Funny how in the heat of the moment he’d been to distracted by Gary’s striptease to notice his own growing erection. His cheeks flush a bit, and Gary raises his eyebrows suggestively, propped up on his knees, giving Jamie a full view of himself, bathed in the cool light radiating from the TV.

“You were picturing me on a stripper pole, Carra. I heard what you said.” His hands go down to his belt and he starts to unfasten it. 

“It was just for a laugh,” Jamie mumbles, trying (and failing) not to drool.

“I know what you were thinking. It was written all over your face.”

“Was it?” He swallows hard, eyes fixed on Gary’s fingers, which are lazily fumbling with the button of his trousers. “I hadn’t realized…”

Gary nods as he drags down his zipper. Then the music crescendos, and Jamie lets out the breath he’s been holding, desperate for the show to go on, for something to happen, anything at all. But Gary just smirks at him and skirts along the floor to pick up the bottle of vodka. He brings it to his lips, fully aware that his captive audience of one is very much enjoying the way his lips curl around the glass, and when he’s finished drinking, he’s somehow managed to wriggle out of his trousers entirely. Gary is just in his underwear now, on all fours, just feet away from an enraptured (and still somewhat confused) Jamie.

“I don’t think I’m drunk enough for this,” Gary said, laughing. He sounded nervous, more so than he’d been throughout everything prior.

“Well you’re already most of the way done, mate,” Jamie pointed out. His attempts to seem casual weren’t quite working, but at least he hadn’t come in his pants yet. Or tackled Gary, pinned him down, and fucked him right there on his living room floor. That had to count for something, right? “Or are you waiting for a tip? Should I get out me wallet?”

“Don’t know what I was thinking, coming round like this,” Gary says quietly, staring at the halfway emptied bottle, nerves getting the best of him perhaps.

Jamie watches him, heart sinking a bit, scared that the moment maybe was gone. “You picked a hell of a time for second thoughts, you know.”

That garners a smile, and Gary’s about to say something else when the song ends and fades out and into something else, something a little less raunchy, a little less overt, a little more sensual. The men both blink, looking to each other, and Jamie takes that moment to lean in and kiss Gary again.

Gary lets him, easing back slowly as Jamie presses up against him, letting the younger man ply him and move him until they're completely flush, mouths joined, arms tangled around each other. When they break for air though, Gary’s nervously laughing again.

“You put on a good show,” Jamie says, playfully nipping at his lips. “Much more appealing than Razor’s, I must say.”

“Oh, shut up.” Gary sniffs, trying to preserve whatever’s left of his dignity after performing a botched striptease in Jamie Carragher’s living room.

Jamie cackles sharply, just once, then nuzzles Gary’s chin. “Still, I think Kim Basinger’s got you beat in terms of technique.”

Gary rolls his eyes and gently tugs on Jamie’s hair, pulling him up to kiss his mouth again, and actually shut him up.

**Author's Note:**

> \- dedicated to [anon](http://carravilleanonymous.tumblr.com/) who sent the following message: "OMG i can't help imaging this: Gary Neville serving lap dance to Jamie Carragher, which is actually prompted after i watched A League of Our Own UK S8E05." i hope this amuses you, anon! and if you choose to reveal yourself, i'll happily gift this fic to you!
> 
> \- [here's carra's appearance on aloto](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c9JqL1BhKnY), complete him professing his love for gary & the lap dance
> 
> \- [here's the music video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jOotsq4soug) for joe cocker's famous song, complete with the infamous striptease scene from _9½ Weeks_ , which is by far sexier than anything i can come up with lmao
> 
> \- and [here's the song that would naturally come on next](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9kp3N3wQPO0) because reasons


End file.
